


Draugir

by grayspider1974



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Other, Zombies, coarse language, occult weirdness, stuff that happens as the body decomposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16170080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayspider1974/pseuds/grayspider1974
Summary: In which Astrid is turned away from Valhalla and becomes one of the living dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Norse term for one of the living dead is "draugir."  
> Nidaros was the seat of Harald Finehair's power, and continued to be the capital of Norway for several centuries.  
> Across Northern Europe, the word for "Friday" is translates as "wash day", because it's traditionally the day when everyone washes their clothes, takes a bath, and gets drunk.

In my opinion, "Astrid" was an unappealing and rather offensive character played by a particularly homely and untalented "waif" actress who (quite frankly) already looks a bit like a bog body. She's not really given a back story and even less characterization than Snafrid (who only lasted three episodes, but was still more interesting than any of Bjorn's other love interests), but I think even she deserves a chance to redeem herself...and I've given her a matriomic (as per Norse tradition, in which a woman would use her mother's name as her surname, much as a man would use his father's) which is more consideration than the Hirsts gave her when they created her character!

For all her vaunted skill in battle, Astrid was really a bit of a coward, and had died like a coward, and as such there was no seat in Odin's hall for her. The Valkyries had turned her away with a disgusted look, and her shade had fled sobbing from the battlefield, and had only stopped when she met two other spirits she did not recognise. One was an older man with a wise, kind face and the other was a stunningly beautiful girl in a strange blue hat, and they stood just under the eaves of the forest, talking quietly together in a language that was completely unlike Norse, and which Astrid thought had far too many vowels. The old man turned to her and said "Hyvaa iltaa! Nimeni on Saeve Lappalainen, kunigas Saami. Saanko esitella min tytar, Snafrid? Mika on nimenne?"  
"I'm sorry," Astrid had said "Do you speak Norse? I don't understand whatever language it is that you are speaking."  
The strangers exchanged a glance, and the girl in the blue hat spoke to her in Norse. "My father does not speak your language as well as I, but he was trying to introduce himself, and was inquiring as to your name. He is Saeve, and I am Snafrid. And you are?"  
"I am Astrid Umasdottir...Lagertha's companion."  
Snafrid smirked. "I believe we have a mutual friend. I believe you slept with Bjorn Ragnarsson before I married him...so how was he?" The Saami girl was smiling a bit, but her eyes were grave.  
"He was awful. Torvig never told me how big his cock was, or how ugly. My pussy hurt afterwards."  
"Men's genitals are not the most attractive part of their anatomy," said Snafrid. "But if you don't like cock, then don't fuck cock!"  
"I got fucked again by a pack of inbred whalers after Harald kidnapped me and took me back to Nidaros. I didn't have much choice that time around!" Astrid could hear the whine in her own voice, but did not care. "Apparently, that's a typical Washday night in Nidaros!". She was crying again, and snivelling. 'I'm a piss poor excuse for a shield maiden, if I let a bunch of drunk whalers rape me...no wonder Lagertha killed me, and the Valkyries turned me away!"  
The two Saami seemed to be discussing something. Snafrid held up her fingers as though describing the length of Bjorn's member, and her father said "Ai!" and then chuckled a bit. After a while, she said "You should come with us to Tuonla, to the Hall of the Crimson King. You'll find no welcome from those Aesir bastards in Valhalla, and no mercy."  
Feeling that she had no other choice save for the frigid, lightless plains of Hell, Astrid took Snafrid's hand. The other girl was quite beautiful, and if they had met in life Astrid would have wanted to snog her, but she had a distinct impression that the girl in the weird blue hat did not swing that way. "She probably LIKED Bjorn's weird purple cock...." Astrid thought glumly as she was led away from the battle field. Night was falling, and for a long time they walked through gloom so dense it was palpable. Then Astrid was led into a vast hall, dimly lit by a red glass chandelier. There were tall columns that looked at first to be made of raw, bloody meat, but on closer inspection appeared to be of red stone veined with white, and overstuffed leather chairs, and little tables made out of brass, and a plush but rather hideous carpet. Aside from the ghastly carpet, there was nothing to suggest that this was a place of eternal torment, but Astrid still felt uneasy. Then she stepped on something, and nearly squealed in pain, just as King Saeve struck a bell tat sat on a plinth at the end of the hall. The note the bell emitted hung in the air, terrible and sweet and seemed to grow in volume until the chandelier rattled before it faded. Astrid groped at her feet, and found a small, square object made of a substance that she did not recognise. It was bright yellow, and had four tiny prongs protruding from the top.   
"That's mine," said a small voice. "Leggo of it." There was a small boy in a blue sweater standing in front of Astrid. As she handed him the strange yellow object he spoke in a strange, grating voice that was not at all like that of a child. "You're not here for a womb tomb room," he said. "I suggest you two ladies go to the Circumpolar Club and order a drink. I will go with my friend Saeve."  
"Who are you," Astrid said. Like most small children, this kid creeped her out.  
"I am Tuoni," he said. "Welcome to Tuonla, which is also called Heartbreak Hotel and The Hall of the Crimson King, and for many it is their Final Destination...but perhaps, not for you." He bowed courteously, like any small boy who has been taught good manners, and ambled off with Saeve.  
"The bar's that-a-way..." said Snafrid. "Fancy a drink?"


	2. Unhappy Hour At The Circumpolar Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Astrid goes for a beer, refuses a task, and learns that while Life gives you choices, Death does not give you so so many options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before the Nazis corrupted the swastika for their own purposes, it appeared in so many prehistoric cultures that Carl Jung considered it a "universal" symbol, and theorized that the use of such symbols were somehow encoded in the structure of the human brain...and for some reason, swastikas appear frequently in my dreams, which sometimes resemble the classic Stanley Kubrick film The Shining (in which swastikas appear periodically, which is why I think The Shining may be a metaphor for either the Holocaust or the US's own genocide against Native Americans, rather than having anything to do with the Apollo moon landing)  
> I'm not sure if military favoritism was prohibited in Norse culture, but it has been part of British and Canadian martial law for centuries, and remains so to this day.

The second hall was equally dimly lit, but lower and paneled in wood rather than in red stone, and the floor was tiled rather than carpeted, though the red and black tiles were laid in the same swastika pattern as the carpet in the hall with the red chandelier, and swastikas were carved into the squat pillars and the beams that supported the ceiling. In the midst of this was a long bar topped with crimson marble which was being meticulously wiped down by a small man in a dark robe, and there were bottles arrayed on the shelves behind it and a large crock that probably contained something like pickled eggs next to what appeared to be a very small tree growing in a pot.  
"Well, it's not Valhalla," Astrid thought "but at least there's beer!"  
"Why, hello!" said the robed man "On behalf of my friend Ragnar Lothbrook, known as the Wrath of God and of his son Bjorn Ironside known as The Worst Thing To Happen To Italy Since The Visigoths Showed Up And Refused To Leave, I most heartily apologise to both of you ladies for the manner of your respective demises. On the other hand, I refuse to apologise on Lagertha's behalf." He scratched his tonsured head, and slid two mugs of what appeared to be a cloudy, light-coloured beer towards the two women. "Honestly, I don't understand half the things that go through that daft harpy's mind. Ragnar arranged everything so that his sons could rule Norway together and found politically advantageous wives for all of them, and Lagertha cocked things up. Neither of you should have been involved, and you would both have lived long and happy lives had she had the sense to leave well enough alone!"  
"Lagertha's problem is that she thinks her shit don't stink, and her lack of empathy for others suggests borderline psychopathy," said a voice which sounded like it came from the tree. "Not only that but she's got poor impulse control and likes to blame others whenever she fucks up. Yo, Aethelstan...beer me, and lay out some pickled eggs and herring for these two!"  
The robed man filled a shot glass and flicked it at the tree. Astrid saw a tiny, metallic arachnid climbing about in its branches. "Incidentally," the spider added "today the Mead of Inspiration is a nice Belgian-style wheat beer flavoured with cardamom and citrus." A fly started investigating the plate of herring and eggs that Aethelstan had set on the bar, and was snagged by a long thin strand of spider silk before the spider continued again. "At any rate, Lagertha put her own interests ahead of not only those of her son, but of Ragnar's other children. That's not only morally reprehensible by both Norse and Christian standards, but from a purely biological viewpoint is incredibly stupid, because aside from an individual life form's need to preserve its own life and produce offspring, it is in that individual's best interests to ensure that their offspring also survive long enough to produce offspring if they wish their genes to continue after their own demise."  
"I don't understand what this has to do with me," said Astrid. She bit into a pickled egg.  
"You were pregnant with Bjorn's child...but what really complicates things was that you were also a child of Ragnar. He and Lagertha used to have terrible fights about his sexual proclivities, and Bjorn takes after his father in that regard."  
Astrid swallowed, and a sizeable chunk of pickled egg got stuck in her windpipe, but she managed to cough it out.  
"In fact, Lagertha should have understood her son's proclivities, and kept you as far away from him as humanly possible, especially since you actually like cock" the spider continued. "Let's face it...Bjorn Ragnarsson is a huge horn dog who'll hump just about any willing piece of ass that crosses his path!"  
"That's why I liked him," said Snafrid, who then snickered. "He didn't have as much stamina as I hoped, but..." She held out her hands as though to indicate the length of Bjorn's sexual member, which was evidently quite large. "They say that if you don't like cock you shouldn't fuck cock, so I for one jump on any cock that I see and like."  
Astrid had just gulped down about a quarter of her beer, and Snafrid's comment made her spew it all over the bar in astonishment  
"YOU WHORE!" she shouted.  
Aethelstan reached for another dry rag, muttered "Judge not lest ye yourself be judged, Lady..." and started mopping down the bar again.   
Snafrid snagged a pickled herring, bit off the head and started nibbling the rest. "Technically speaking, I'm a slut, not a whore. I fuck because I like fucking, and I don't try to gain anything by it except the sheer joy of getting laid. But that is beside the point...I enjoyed my life far more than you did, but now that we're dead such things are utterly irrelevant."  
"I think the Crazy Hat Lady made a valid point here," said Aethelstan. "Instead of jabbering about the sexual habits of a man I used to whack on the knuckles for masturbating back when he still had peach fuzz and spraying me with the Mead of Inspiration, you two ladies need to consider your next lives. In fact, the reason why Tuoni brought you here is because I'm due to be reborn as one of Bjorn's sons, and someone has to take over as his guardian angel. I don't think there's a similar concept in either of your cultures. It's...a spirit who has passed on and watches over the living and guides them.  
"My culture has Spirit Animals," said Snafrid.  
"What's yours, a bitch in heat?" sniped Astrid.  
"As a matter of fact, it is..." said Snafrid "I count myself fortunate to have such a strong Spirit Guide!"  
"At any rate," said Aethelstan "That Which Is has determined that one of you will assume the role of Guardian Angel, but the other will fill a purpose that is hidden to me, so I think it is best to allow you two ladies to make that choice for yourselves."  
Snafrid sipped her beer appreciatively, but Astrid gulped down the rest of hers and said "Fuck that! I'm not staying here!" She stood, but nearly tripped over her bar stool. For some reason, the floor seemed to ripple, then span like a whirlpool. She felt as though she had drunk several pints of strong mead rather than less than a pint of wheat beer.   
"Well then, I guess you've made your choice!" Aethelstan said. His expression was one of pity. "I hope you made the right one..." Astred felt as though she had fallen into cold, swift-flowing water that was sucking her down. She struggled, cursed, and called Aethelstan every foul name she could think of, but he shook his head as she sank through the floor. "Life gave you choices, and you made them. Death doesn't give you quite so many options..."said Aethelstan. Then the spider that had quietly perched in the branches of the tiny tree suddenly sprang at Astrid's face. It was now the size of two outspread hands, and she saw that its body was cunningly crafted from clockwork and it had the face of a rather homely middle aged woman with a mole on her upper lip that ALSO appeared to have eight shiny metallic legs and a face.  
"Ya know what?" the spider asked. "You irritate me, because you're a whiny bitch who can't accept the consequences of her own actions. Where I come from, the military has a saying...'Confident, cocky, lazy, dead.' It's the sort of thing Lagertha would have taught you if she were a decent commanding officer. She also would not have allowed you into her bed or that of her son, because the legal term for when a soldier exchanges sexual favours with his or her commanding officer is 'military favoritism', and where and when I am from such exchanges are prohibited by military law and are punishable by a court martial and dishonourable discharge. You're a disgrace to all women who serve in a combat role!" Her fangs sank into Astrid's cheek, and stung like a broken heart. "You're going to sleep for a thousand years or more, until Tuoni calls you. You may dream, but you probably won't want to remember them." It seemed to Astrid that the light was growing dim, and she was sinking deeper and deeper into cold, murky water, bound hand and foot by silk thread that for all its thinness and lightness was strong enough to bind Fenris until Ragnarok.  
"Life gave me choices," was her last conscious thought for a millenium "but evidently, Death does not..."


	3. The Bog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Astrid sleeps for a thousand years beneath a peat bog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally thousands of bog bodies have been found in peat bogs all across Europe and Britain, dating from the Early Iron Age to the late Middle Ages, and the most plausible explanation for why many of them are there was recorded in the Germania by Publius Tacitus in the first century AD...but because people got offended the last time I mentioned the Germania, I suggest that people read the book and figure it out for themselves!  
> "Postmortem birth" is yet another grisly yet fascinating fact I learned from watching History's Cold Cases and other shows about archaeology and forensic science...I may be a little sick in the head, but I like shows about REAL stuff more than "reality TV!"

Astrid hovered near her body, watching.  
She saw Bjorn shamble past carrying Snafrid's mangled corpse, but her own carcass was not discovered until several days later, when it was bloated to the point of being unrecognisable, and the gases building up inside her abdomen had pushed out the tiny fetus that she now realized had been a gift from Freya that she had churlishly refused. As she and the other unclaimed dead were loaded onto carts and unceremoniously flung into a nearby peat bog, she would have wept if she could, but the dead can neither weep nor laugh. The black bog water covered her in night, and the natural tannins in it permeated her flesh and made it into leather, though the metal fittings on her clothing eroded away. In a way, Astrid knew more peace lying in the peat bog than she had ever known in life...but that peace did not last forever, because the bog waters carried sounds that reminded Astrid of the passing of time. The seasons came and went and life grew up and died back around her. Sometimes she heard the clash of battle, and stirred uneasily in her cocoon of spider silk beneath the bog, and later she saw strange, birdlike objects flying over head that must have been larger than any eagle. Some had circles painted on their wings, while others had swastikas painted on theirs, and Astrid guessed that these were like the devices that warriors painted on their shields.  
"Fascists," Tuoni's voice rasped inside her mind. "They take my symbol, and turn it to their own use...feh, they do worse to their own people than to their foes, in the name of their gods of Blood and Soil...well, they won't get a warm welcome in Tuonla from me!" Astrid twisted, and for the first time in centuries she found that the silk bonds had loosened a bit. "Not yet, Astrid..." Tuoni whispered. "You're only on the edge of the conflict, and would not be able to do much to stop it. Soon it may come to you..." But then, the rumours of war ceased, and she could hear the sounds of children playing.  
"The Lutheran Church has built a youth camp near this place," said Tuoni. "Say what you want about the Christians, they cherish and love their young and take good care of them."  
"Christians?" Astrid asked "Here? In Kattegat?"  
"Oh, yes..." said Tuoni. "Norway has been a Christian country since Harald Finehair became King a thousand years ago. He would have made you a Queen and the mother of Kings, but instead you chose the path that brought you here..."  
"Oh, shit..." Astrid said. "I fucked up!"  
Tuoni chuckled. "Everything that happens is the will of That Which Is, and sometimes the outcome is surprising."  
Then there was a series of muffled pops, and the sound of children screaming. In her mind, Astrid heard the terrible, sweet, maddening sound of the Bell of Tuonla.  
"RISE! RISE NOW!!" The rasping, unchildlike voice of Tuoni, the Crimson King, Lord of the Dead Lands had suddenly gone from a whisper to a maddening roar. "DEATH! DEATH IS COMING!! WE ARE COMING!!! RISE, YE UNREMEMBERED DEAD!!!"


	4. The Walking Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dead walk...and really, why can't zombies be the GOOD guys for a change?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the alt-right's yammering about supposed Muslim terrorism, the single most heinous act of terrorism in Europe since World War Two was committed by a native Norwegian by the name of Anders Brevik...in fact, the Norwegian government considered bringing back the death penalty to deal with him, but he is now incarcerated in a psychiatric facility.  
> Unlike modern Hollywood zombies, draugir were supposedly capable of speech and sometimes even recited poetry...but Astrid isn't the poetic sort, and "fuck" is a perfectly good Norse/Germanic word that originally meant to strike someone.

Although the dead can neither laugh nor weep they can rage, and Tuoni had placed the image of in the minds of the small army of draugir that came sloshing and staggering out of the peat bog, and gave a name to the pudgy, unremarkable little man with the strange device known as a "semiautomatic assault rifle" that spat death at a distance, and brains that had been quietly steeping in bog water for a millenium suddenly boiled with rage. "KILL BREVIK! KILL THE MAN IN BLACK! HE WHO KILLS CHILDREN KILLS THE FUTURE!" In her mind, Astrid saw her foe. He fancied himself a warrior, but he was a coward who killed not for glory or for honour or even for gain but to ease his own sense of worthlessness and impotence. In her world, a man with such cowardice and limited skills and rather sedentary lifestyle would probably not have lasted long on the battlefield or working on a farm or a fishing boat, nor did he possess the skills of a craftsman or a merchant. In short, her enemy was what Astrid's people would have called a "nithling"...lazy, stupid, cowardly, and simmering with hatred for those he blamed for his own faults. It did not take a skilled fighter to run amok with a semiautomatic assault rifle, or a brave man to such a weapon on defenseless children, and he evidently did not have the brains to realize that it is much harder to kill something that is already dead than it is to kill a child, or he would have run away after her had shot Astrid in the chest. The short sword with which she had begged Lagertha to take her life and that of her child was in Astrid's hand, and although bog water corroded steel it had been sheathed in her flesh, and still had a sharp enough edge to do grievous bodily harm. It cut into Brevik's neck, and his piggy little eyes widened in horror as he started gushing red.  
"Fuck you!" Astrid snarled as the horrific, sweet sound of the bell of the Dead Lands rang inside her head. Other draugir hacked at Brevik with axes and knives and tore with fingernails and teeth until only bloody rags and hunks of flesh and shattered bone remained. Astrid realized that it was not actually Brevik she was angry at, but Lagertha her commanding officer and lover long ago. "Lagertha used me as her whore," Astrid thought as she shambled back to the bog holding Brevik's severed head under her arm. "She fucked me, and betrayed me to Harald and when I found my way back to her she put me down like a bitch." The cold, black waters of the peat bog were like jumping into a lake after a sauna. "If I ever find my way to Valhalla, I will tear her head off and piss in it..." But just before the deep, all-pervasive sleep known only by the dead claimed her again, another face appeared before Astrid's eyes...a narrow, brown face with enviable cheekbones, glossy black hair, eyes as blue as the Baltic Sea and a mocking little grin full of fine white teeth. "Frig!" Astrid thought. "If Lagertha is in Valhalla,then Ivar has gotten to her long before I have. Yet again, I have been royally fucked by a member of Ragnar's family..."


End file.
